The Half Brothers
by CaptainCrieff
Summary: In which Sherlock and Martin are half brothers. A series of short one shots.
1. Grown Up Ambitions

Cabin pressure oneshots.

Ages ago it seems, two boys were out playing in the garden of their parent's estate. They were brothers well, half-brother actually. They shared the same biological father who had remarried just one year after his second child was born. The boys were two years apart at ages six and eight. Their names; Martin (the younger) and Sherlock. One day they decided the house provided less entertainment then a schoolhouse and went outside. They lay facing the sky, bored with summer already.  
"What do you want to be when you grow up Martin?" Sherlock asked. Martin pondered the question for a moment then replied, his small voice teeming with enthusiasm.  
"I want to be an aeroplane!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"You can't BE an aeroplane, that's impossible." Martin's face deflated.  
"Oh...well I guess a..a.."  
"How about a pilot?" suggested Sherlock. Martin's brows furrowed.  
"What do they do?"  
Unlike with everyone else, Sherlock never shot down his little brother for missing the obvious.  
"They fly the plane."  
"Oh! Well that's much better." Martin smiled, satisfied with his new found career choice. "What about you?"  
"That's simple," said Sherlock. "A pirate."  
Martin's eyes widened with shock and respect.  
"Really? A real life pirate like the ones on the telly?"  
Sherlock jumped to his feet, found the nearest ample stick and began waving it around as if he was some crazed fencer.  
"Everyone will tremble in fear as the Navy's ships are plundered by the dreaded pirate Captain Sherlock Holmes!"  
"But" started Martin, "that's not you na-"  
"Oh please. Sherlock Crieff? That's not a captain's name!" He tossed his weapon into the bush and resigned. "I found the name in one of my chemistry books. It's more... mysterious." Martin sighed.  
"We'll be the best." Sherlock raised an eyebrow inquisitively.  
"Sorry?"  
"We will be the best captains Britain has ever seen."  
"That we will." Sherlock got up and held a hand out to Martin. "C'mon Skip. I think I hear mother."


	2. Everyone need some practice

"Eggs benedict"

Martin looked up from his games and saw his brother making his way across the patio towards him.

"How did you-"

"And some grape juice." Sherlock sank into his lawn chair. "Bored." Summer holidays were taking a toll on his brilliant mind. The information of three A level chemistry books and a paper on British law (which he devoured in mere hours) still wasn't enough to satisfy him. Sherlock gazed into the forest that bordered the garden and sighed, sinking lower. Martin pitied his brother and offered his assistance.

"Can I help?" Sherlock shrugged but then his eyes lit up with a devious sort of light.

"Do you want to help me practice?" Martin looked uneasy. Even though Martin loved his brother dearly, some of his ideas were a bit too rebellious for his liking.

"You mean those dedu...deduc...?"

"Deductions, Martin. And yes."

"Er- I don't know. You know how it all upsets mummy." Martin fiddled with his toy plane nervously.

"You sound like Mycroft" huffed Sherlock. This didn't have the effect Sherlock wanted to inflict on Martin. You see, unlike Sherlock Martin idolized Mycroft very much. He smiled but Sherlock wasn't paying attention. Bored with playing Martin agreed to help.

"Brilliant. Now come on."

They stealthily sneaked into the kitchen where the kitchen staff was busily preparing lunch. Roast beef and walnut salad, supposed Sherlock, but that was beside the point. He was here for another purpose. Him and Martin sat down and began Sherlock's idea of "fun".

"Alright," whispered Martin. "Margaret."

"State of her apron indicates that that she was busy last night, possibly out buying grocery supplies but that would leave her time to wash it so she was home late. There are stains on it but not from any food we had yesterday. The stain is purplish and it appears to be a port. Expensive then. Now her hair, wiry as always but look, quickly thrown up into a bun. The signs of a hangover are obvious but it's not hard-core. She hasn't been partying. Now look at the way she's eyeing the waiter. It would almost seem that..OH."

Martin whirled around knowing his brother had come to a conclusion.

"What is it!"

Sherlock drew in a breath and said,

"Martin, I don't think you want to know. These are adult matters,"

"You're only eight!"

"I simply can't tell you. But I do think mother and father would be rather interested."

Sherlock ran off to be the little telltale he was born to be. Martin, shocked by this sudden change of events, marched right back to his sandbox and continued playing pilot.


	3. We Are Now Beginning Our Descent

In the far right corner of the massive garden, a strategically placed arrangement of dining chairs stood occupied with an array of various teddy bears, Smurfs and action men. There were two chairs at the front, one in which Martin was practicing his cabin address.

"Afternoon! This is Captain Martin Crieff. I do hope you are enjoying your flight. We are flying out from the garden today and we will be landing in the, er, other garden shortly. Please stay seated as we begin our...fall?" Martin shrugged and kept steering with his makeshift joystick. He saw Sherlock emerge from inside the house. By the time he arrived at the "aircraft", Martin had landed, hoovered and locked up. "Sherlock," he asked, "What would a pilot say to let the passengers know we're about to land?" Without hesitation Sherlock answered,

"We are now beginning our descent." Martin nodded then smiled.

"I'm about to fly to Dublin," he said, "want to come?"

Sherlock looked around,_ Nothing else to do, _he thought.

He walked the perimeter of the plane, putting on a grown up, observing look.

"Well, I've done the walk around, wings are generally not broken, heat in the cargo hold is turned down and personally I wouldn't do any low altitude flying today, we don't have the proper engines for that." Sherlock gave a quick nod and sat down in the flight deck.

"No!" cried Martin. "That's _my_ seat. Iam the supreme commander on this aeroplane!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"How could I forget." He switched over to the co-pilot's seat and Martin took his place beside him. Martin cleared his throat.

"Now I'll be doing all of the cabin address today." He made a static noise and continued, "ATC this is _Uniform Mike Quebec Romeo Alpha _requesting the weather report for Dublin." There was a brief pause until Martin gently nudged Sherlock. He sighed and responded, his hands cupped around his mouth for effect.

"_Uniform Mike Quebec Romeo Alpha, _weather for Dublin is as follows; little turbulence, full visibility, scattered rain clouds expected around midday."

When Martin had taken off and assured the passengers that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, Sherlock asked,

"Martin, why have you chosen UMQRA to represent your airline?"

Martin looked up, a little embarrassed.

"Well," he began. "those are the only letters of the ponetic alphabet that I know."

"Ponetic?"

"Yes that's right."

"Martin, do you by any chance mean, _phonetic_?" Sherlock stifled a laugh and Martin stared straight ahead ignoring his brother.

"Sherlock, how do you know so much about aviation?" Sherlock shrugged.

"We flew to Glasgow when you were smaller and I picked up a few things."

"You learned the p-phonetic alphabet, how to talk like a pilot and how an aeroplane works from a one hour flight?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"But that's brilliant!"

Sherlock couldn't help but feel rather pleased with himself. They flew in relative silence for about five minutes when Martin started to feel peckish.

"'Bout time to land," said Martin. "Right skip?"

"Quite right, sir."


	4. Highly Unlikely Birthdays

The world is full of highly unlikely and improbable things and yet when something out of the ordinary occurs, people tend to become overly excited. Sherlock understands this, therefore when his and Martin's birthday came along he only bothered to remember for Martin's sake. You see, despite being half-brothers and two years apart, they shared the same birthday. One of life's little mysteries. Martin who would be turning seven hadn't yet grasped, and probably never did, the concept of improbable things and was overjoyed with the birthday celebration their parents had prepared and the prospect of sharing it with Sherlock.

"Mother, father" said Sherlock addressing their parents as they descended the stairs into the dining room, "please do not feel the need to mention my birthday, Martin has expressed this occasion in every way known to the human race." Before and Mr. and Mrs. Crieff could form a rebuttal, Martin came racing out of his room his head adorned with multiple party hats.

"It's our birthday, it's our birthday!" sang Martin. He ran around the breakfast table nearly taking out Margaret, who was preparing their morning cuppa, in the process. When he finally calmed down he learned of the little get together that was to take place with his school mates this afternoon. Even Mycroft he learned was to attend. But that wasn't for several hours and Martin was growing restless after breakfast.

"Tell you what." sighed Mr. Crieff. "How about you open some family presents before the party. You too Sherlock." he added. Martin, who was practically bouncing, was handed a square parcel wrapped in shiny red paper. "This one's from your mother and I." Martin barely hesitated and ripped through the package at the speed of light. He reached in the box and retrieved a very expensive look yellow toy car.

He cried "Brilliant!" and gave his parents each a hug as big as his seven year old arms could manage.

"And for you Sherlock" Mr. Crieff passed a lumpy present towards Sherlock who then unwrapped it to reveal a woolly blue scarf. He didn't want to appear too pleased but he could feel the corner of his mouth creeping upwards. He gave in, and gave his parents his thanks. Martin suddenly stood up and ran into his room. He returned with a long rectangular box.

"I picked it out myself!" said Martin extending his arms, offering the box to Sherlock. He lifted the lid, removed the crinkly tissue paper and took out a brand new violin bow. He cradled it in his hands, admiring it from every angle.

"Wow Martin, this is exquisite. Italian?"

Martin nodded.

"Mom helped me order it and we went to Cremona last month to pick it up!"

Martin was beaming, evidently proud of his gift. Mr. Crieff turned to Martin.

"Well that's it for now we should probably-"

"Hang on! I got Martin something too."

Everyone turned to Sherlock. Mr. and Mrs. Crieff were surprised that Sherlock hadn't "deleted" his birthday date let alone the fact presents were generally given. He took a box out from under the table and handed it to his brother. His mother raised her eyebrows.

"You wrapped it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm not incompetent you know."

Everyone turned their attention to Martin who had now unwrapped his gift. What he was holding was a brand new Captain's hat.

He was speechless. Sherlock spoke instead,

"It was the smallest genuine one I could find. Yes, it's real. I wasn't about to get him a child's toy from a fancy dress shop."

"Why don't you try it on sweetie?" said Mrs. Crieff but Martin was way ahead of her. It fit him perfectly too.

He was still in awe as he turned to Sherlock and broke into a broad smile.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" He ran over and Sherlock allowed him a hug, just this once.

.

The party started around 1 o'clock. The guest list consisted of Martin's school friends, around 8 kids were running around the garden, eating cake or admiring Martin's new Captain hat. Sherlock didn't know any of the children on a personal level, he was two years their senior. No one in his year was there either though. He was sitting against the garden wall, poking the carrot cake with fork when he heard Mycroft say,

"Having fun Sherly?"

Sherlock let out an audible sigh.

"Save it Mycroft. You know very well I'm as bored as you are."

"On the contrary little brother," said Mycroft, "I'm having a lovely time. I haven't been home since Christmas, school has been most tedious and it's good to be among friends and family." He gazed down at Sherlock's plate. "And there's cake."

"Aren't you on a diet? The next Prime Minister needs to keep up a suitable appearance."

Mycroft shook his head.

"I have absolutely no Prime Ministerial ambitions. Too much publicity. No, I'll be settling for a much minor position in the British Government. Keep quiet, out of the public eye."

Sherlock sighed at his brother, minor position indeed. He glanced at his elder brother and deduced he was on a diet but it wasn't serious as he had only been shedding weight at a glacial pace. He went back to his cake and Mycroft went to go chat with an aunt.

.

When the party was over, Martin was so tired he very nearly went straight to bed. He stayed awake long enough to say goodnight to his family. He thanked them profusely, especially Sherlock and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sherlock, who kept extremely unhealthy sleeping habits, was sitting by the outdoor pond long after Martin dozed off. He thought to himself how Martin was the only one with party guests. Who did he have? Mycroft? He skipped a few stones with expert precision. No, he thought. He had Martin. Martin was his only friend; he looked up to Sherlock and didn't feel intimidated when he made his deductions. He never called him a freak or refused to play with him. Yes, Sherlock concluded. Martin was his friend. He started to shiver and decided to move into the house.

Maybe, Sherlock thought, I'll meet another person like Martin and we can go on adventures, that'd be nice.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before he caught himself feeling sentimental. He got into his pajamas and turned in for some long needed rest.

**Author's note: Thank you, everyone, so much for reading my story! Please review and let me know if you have any suggestions or requests! **


	5. You Can Imagine The Christmas Dinners

**Author's note: True it is summer time but Christmas, being one of my favourite holidays, is the sun this story revolves around. It's frightfully cold for this time of year anyway. Christmas time also gives me an excuse to write in some Mycroft. If you have any suggestions or prompts leave a review and I'll see what I can do! Also, giant thanks to my beta (you know who you are!) for proofreading my little stories :)  
**

**Friendly reminder: Unfortunately I do not own Cabin Pressure or Sherlock. Those privileges remain with John Finnemore and Mofftiss.**

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Dashing through the snow on a one horse open sleigh, for the hills we go laughing all the way…

Sherlock could just hear the sound of joyful carolers as they moved through the neighborhood, growing fainter with every house they passed. Sherlock was not overly fond of Christmas. By the time all the lights were up and the snow had fallen he became bored and began to detest the over-commercialism that surrounded the holiday. Martin, you may be surprised to hear, did not particularly enjoy Christmas either. The gifts were brilliant of course but their parents were always busy with work parties or mingling with relatives. Because of these complications, Martin barely saw anything of his parents during Christmas time (save a few hours on Christmas day). This one, he imagined wouldn't be any different.

Martin appeared at the top of the stairs on the 24th of December and made his way down to the dining room. He raised his eyebrows and realized what was different. There were festive decorations everywhere; on the ceiling, the chairs and the staff had even managed a few poinsettias for the table. Martin spotted Sherlock already seated.

"What's all this then?" Martin asked.

Sherlock who hadn't slept at all vaguely acknowledge Martin but did not respond. Martin waited patiently for an answer but never received one. He sighed, gave Sherlock a shove (though with little strength) and repeated his question.

"Oi!" Sherlock said, rubbing his shoulder. "Mother and Father are throwing their own party this year alright?"

At that moment Margaret walked in and told them to tidy up, the guests were expected to be arriving shortly. Oh joy, thought Sherlock, relatives. However bitter Sherlock seemed to act towards his cousins, it was nothing compared to how he felt about them inside. His aunt and uncle on his father's side weren't very fond of Sherlock (they preferred Mycroft a great deal more). Their dislike of Sherlock had been absorbed by his cousins therefore, whenever they got the chance to take the mickey out of him, you can bet a fiver they did.

Before dinner the grown-ups and Mycroft were milling about, gathering each other's information about the most recent political scandals. Sherlock, Martin and their cousins Simon and Caitlin were destined to spend Christmas dinner at the "kids table". It was located in a separate room, right beside the adults. They were to be closed off from adult conversation by a nearly soundproof oak door. Sherlock shuddered at the idea. He was more than educated on the matters of which the adults were discussing. Unfortunately, he was nine and viewed as a child of lesser intellect. He sneered in his parents' general direction when he caught Mycroft's eye. His calm composed "political talk" face quickly turned into a gloating smirk, meant especially for Sherlock. He tried not to look at Mycroft for the remainder of the evening.

The main course at the children's table was the same as the adult's; roast beef with Yorkshire puddings and a side of mashed potatoes and gravy. The kitchen staff had simply outdone themselves. Their hard work was taken for granted by the awful cousins. Sherlock was about half way through his meal when he saw something flying towards him. Luckily, his expertly trained peripheral vision had allowed him to dodge the oncoming mash potato mound that Caitlin had catapulted from her spoon. Martin was not so lucky. His ginger curls were now covered in gravy, thanks to Simon.

"Nice shot Simon!" said Caitlin approvingly. The cousins were merely one year older than Sherlock but they were under the impression that they were in fact eons ahead of Sherlock and Martin. Their flawed logic, in their eyes, justified the endless taunting. "What are you looking at, freak?"

Sherlock had been glaring at them for some time now, trying to pick them apart, make them sorry for putting Martin on the brink of tears. There wasn't much to go on though. Nothing he ever said seemed to upset them because while they were perfectly horrible, they were not very bright and his insults slid right off them. He opened his mouth to defend his little brother but before he could utter a single word Simon cut him off.

"Oh look! The freak's got something to say! Well go on then, what were you saying?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and muttered,

"You've both been getting poor grades this term, your mother disapproves but your father being the good for nothing drunk that he is could care less about you, let alone school." Those words were meant to sting. He raised his eyebrow, waiting for the appropriate response. Simon just smiled.

"Is that the best you've got?" said Simon. Martin was becoming anxious with all the arguing. Caitlin gave an odd little chortle encouraging her brother. He continued. "My God look at him Caity. Poor widdle baby thinks he can bully us. Big, bad Sherlock! Always shut off in his room, Sherly no mates, what a creep!"

Sherlock had been reduced into a silent brood until dessert. When the dinner plates had been cleared, four portions of piping hot strudel made their way onto the children's plates. Martin's shoulders slumped.

"Ugh" he moaned, "strudel! No one likes strudel!" He ran over to the glass window on the side of the door and made a horrifying discovery. "Look at that! The grown-ups got cheesecake! Everyone likes cheesecake." Sherlock silently agreed. He also silently wished that Simon and Caitlin's vicious attacks were over and done with. They were not. Because they weren't particularly gifted with an eloquent tongue, the siblings resorted to repeating the same insults, directing words such as "freak" in Sherlock's direction. All throughout dessert Sherlock grew increasingly irritated as he was continually shot down. When Simon chucked a piece of strudel directly into Sherlock's eye that was the last straw. They began having a row right at the Christmas dinner table throwing a few choice words in here and there. After a few minutes of this they someone shout.

"Stop it, everybody just stop it!"

Martin had stood up on his chair, cleared his throat and endeavored to cease their bickering. Successful, he continued.

"You lot!" he motioned to his cousins. "This is supposed to be Christmas! Mummy and daddy worked hard to have a nice dinner and you two are ruining it!" he stressed the last two words greatly. "Now all of you be quiet and act like a family or I'll tell the parents!" Not two seconds had passed before he could hear the scrape of chairs and footsteps marching into the kid's dining room.

"What's all this then?" cried Simon and Caitlin's mother. "We thought we heard a shouting match, and we- Martin, what are you doing on that chair?" Martin started to stutter, his face turning red, unable to speak once called upon by his frightening aunt.

"I er, well uh.."

"He was giving a Christmas toast" lied Sherlock smoothly. He knew Simon and Caitlin would only deny the truth, better to keep the dispute low key. "You were saying Martin?"

Martin's eyes got real wide. Sherlock nodded and gave him an expecting look.

"Right!" said Martin. "Happy Christmas everybody and er". He blanked for a moment then recovered with a line from a TV programme he was watching earlier. "God bless us everyone!" The parents looked around then started clapping.

"That was lovely son" said Mr. Crieff and lifted his son off the chair.

When all the relatives and awful cousins had vacated the premises Martin took Sherlock aside.

"Nice save Sherlock" he said with a warm smile. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Reciprocating emotions was not his strong suit. He felt he should be thanking Martin for standing up to their cousins.

"No problem Skip," he said. "Let's go get ready for bed. Santa won't come unless you're fast asleep." Sherlock had discovered the truth behind Santa Claus when he was four but he kept the dream alive for Martin. He led Martin up the stairs to the shower. He instructed him to thoroughly remove any traces of gravy from his hair, get into his pajamas and then straight to bed. Sherlock who was confident Martin would do as he was told quietly slipped into the sitting room after stopping by his own room. He stared at the enormous pine tree situated conveniently opposite to the stone fireplace. He made sure he heard the washroom door click then crawled underneath the Christmas tree. He retreated off to his room to do some late night forensics experiments, leaving a neatly wrapped copy Principles of Climatology on top of the other presents, complete with a red highlighter.

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**Hope you enjoyed it! I made Simon and Caitlin cousins because I thought it might fit better than more Crieff siblings. Again, thank you and if you have questions, comments, or prompts, leave a review! **


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